


A Birthday Gift

by colouredshadows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colouredshadows/pseuds/colouredshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam decide to celebrate Cas' birthday</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Birthday Gift

“Err, hey Cas. I got you something.”

Castiel looked up from where he was setting down the last of the cards celebrating his very first supposed birthday, a tradition the Winchester’s had decided  that, despite him being an angel and not having a technical date of birth,  Cas deserved to be included in. And quite spontaneously, they had decided that it would be today. Already he had been showered in cards, balloons and little gifts, all without any apparent meaning, and at first it all seemed ridiculous but after a time Castiel had stopped questioning and let himself enjoy this day of joy which Sam and Dean had so needlessly arranged for him.

His eyes met the sight of Dean, who was stood awkwardly by the foot of his motel bed, a small dark-blue box encased in his hands. Castiel frowned, confused. “But Dean, you already got me a present.”

A brief, almost nervous, smile drifted across Dean’s face and he shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah, well I guess I got you another one.”

“Oh,” Castiel initiated, still a little confused, “why didn’t you give it to me this morning?”

Dean stepped closer and held out his hand, offering the slightly worn and battered box to Castiel. “I wanted to give you this one on your own.”

Castiel’s curiosity was kindled. _What was it that could be in this tiny, aged box which Dean treated with such importance but yet waited until they were alone to give to him?_ He turned it over in his fingers and, as they always did when seeking assurance, his eyes flitted up towards Dean. Even after all this time, Castiel was startled by the ferocious beauty of Dean’s vivid green eyes. Dean had the kind of face that Castiel found it easy to get lost in: all freckles and precise delicate shapes which withheld a hidden warrior, hardened by a ghost of things which had been seen and lived, but could never be forgotten. An undeniably beautiful face, but also a sad one. One carved with tragedy.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Dean joked, his voice a little strained so as not to appear nervous. _He obviously cares a lot about what I think of this present_ , Castiel thought.

Castiel flicked his attention back to the little cardboard box and carefully edged his fingernails under the flap and prised it open. A dark leather bracelet lay on a bed of crisp white tissue-paper. He tentatively picked it out; admiring the plaited strands of soft leather which had a familiarity Castiel couldn’t place.

“It’s from the Impala,” Dean explained, “I had to remove quite a bit of the upholstery last time I was fixing her up and I couldn’t bear to throw it all out, so spared a few pieces which weren’t too trashed and had them made into wrist bands. I’ve got a matching one, see.” Dean held out his wrist to show him the identical bracelet circled around his own wrist. “Originally I was going to give the other one to Sammy, but I guess I couldn’t face the sentimentality. He’d have been teasing me for weeks. So, you know, I’ve had it around for a while and I only just remembered it recently, and I thought you might like it since you’re kind of one of the family now.” Dean was babbling now, twisting his bracelet around his wrist nervously. “I mean, I kind of find it comforting. The Impala’s been such a home for me, even when I didn’t have anywhere else, that it’s almost a part of me now. So I like having part of it with me. I guess it just reminds me that I’m not homeless, and I’m not lost, however much it sometimes seems like I am.”

Dean looked up at Castiel and smiled anxiously, anticipating Cas’ reaction.

Castiel rubbed a finger over the bracelet, the gift seeming so huge now he knew its meaning.

“Thank you,” he breathed, a little in awe at the consideration of the gift and Dean’s sudden gush of honesty.

Dean must have heard the genuine gratefulness in his voice because Castiel watched as all of the tension left his body. He was obviously very relieved at not being misunderstood and his way of thinking being readily accepted.

“Here,” Dean said, “I’ll help you put it on.”

Castiel handed it to him and offered out the pale expanse of his wrist. Dean’s steady hands braced him as his fingers nimbly knotted the leather threads. Where his fingertips grazed against the soft underbelly of Castiel’s arm it sent goosebumbs rising on Cas’ skin and blushes of warm blossom through him.

Castiel watched Dean’s face as he worked, noting the supple curl of his eyelashes and the splashes of muted freckles which lay along the bridge of his nose and across his cheekbones. Castiel was filled with a sudden desire to touch them, to cup Dean’s face in his hand and slide his thumb across his cheek and explore the constellations which marked Dean’s immaculate face.

“There,” Dean stated, giving the leather cords a final tug, “All done.”

Cas took his hand back and held it up, admiring the contrast of the dark leather entwined around the ghostly pallor of his vessel’s arm.

He thought about what Dean had said, about taking a little piece of home with you wherever you went, and he thought about all of his tenuous connections to heaven and how often he felt out of place and lost. He supposed he had been lost, had been homeless, before the Winchester’s had taken him under their wings, so to speak. But most of all Castiel thought about Dean; and how blank and purposeless his life had been before he’d been gifted the task of saving him from hell.

Castiel thought about that first touch and the blazing light of Dean’s soul, a soul which shone and shone and never gave in despite how broken it was. It could be battered, slashed, shattered into a million pieces, and it would still be the most vibrant, beautiful soul Castiel had ever laid eyes upon.

And that soul was looking at him now; he could glimpse it just hidden behind the shimmer of Dean’s glassy green eyes. Castiel looked at the body the soul inhabited, a body he had come to associate with comfort, with warmth, with family and with home. For that’s what Dean was to Castiel: a home. Dean was the rock Castiel’s boat was anchored to, the only thing keeping him from drifting away when the storm was raging all around them. Castiel felt tethered to him in more ways than one.

He felt that link now, as it stretched between them in the silence. It was something they both knew, a connection so deep it was impossible to identify. And yet, despite everything it kept them bound, tied to each other with the very atoms that made them both.

At first, Castiel had resented the connection, he had regarded it a weakness. He had strived against it, straining like a dog at a leash, chasing freedom the only way he knew how- by rebellion, by tearing up the rule book into a million little pieces and setting fire to the fragments that remained without even stopping to wonder if all of those rules needed burning after all.

But time had run its course and the bond was as inescapable as ever. He knew he wasn’t the only one who felt it- there was sacrifice, risk and bloodshed on both sides of this tug of war. It had taken him a while, but Castiel had come to realise that him and Dean were two pieces of a puzzle and separating them did no good at all. They had to be together if they wanted to build. It had happened so steadily that Castiel couldn’t seem to pinpoint the moment that he had finally realized that him and Dean were no longer fighting to break apart but rather to make sure they were not torn from each other instead.

They _needed_ each other. Like Dean needed water, needed food, needed shelter; and like Castiel needed his grace, his orders and his Father. But Dean came before all of that; Dean came before everything. He was essential to his survival, yes, but it was more than that. It was essential to _him._

A burning, aching necessity that Castiel felt writhe within him, an itch he could not scratch. He felt it now, more than ever, with Dean’s emerald eyes- their cautious curiosity boring into his features, the graceful, shameless curve of his slightly parted lips. Castiel could taste the other man’s anticipation; feel the barely contained tension, stretching like the surface of a balloon about to pop.

Slowly, cautiously, Castiel leaned forward, letting that connection draw them closer and closer together until Castiel could feel Dean’s shallow breaths tickling against his face, whispering against his lips. And then that air was replaced with something else- something solid and warm and incredible.

It took a moment for Castiel’s brain to register the fact that he had just shared a kiss with the righteous man and by then Dean was already drawing away, a soft pink glow lying across his cheekbones. He looked at Castiel inquiringly, as if he too were surprised by what had just happened between them. But it was a happy surprise; Dean’s face already curling into a soft, barely contained smile. He reached out to take Castiel’s hand, entwining their fingers together, and leaned in so that his mouth was only a centimetre away from Castiel’s ear.

“Happy Birthday, Cas.” He whispered.

 

 


End file.
